Page 23 of Crazy Love
“Oh God! I’m sorry.” She turns the flow against the tiles. “Wasn’t anticipating it coming out so fast or so cold. Is he all right? Are you all right?” She rubs my temple, and I lean into the caress. I didn’t realise I had quite such a headache brewing until her fingers landed there and started completing circles. My eyelids slide closed, facial muscles relax. Shit what I wouldn’t give to have Knox magically disappear down the plug hole right about now. Then it’d be just me and her all alone, and me with my head at exactly the right height for her to sit on my face.
“Darke, is he OK?”
“What? Yeah, he’s fine. Leastways, no better or worse than before.” I mean, the bastard’s still breathing.
“I didn’t mean to startle him.”
“He’ll live.” I doubt a bit of cold water is going to traumatize him for life. I’m not even sure his upward jerk was anything more than a function of basic biology. Conscious thought was not a feature of that reaction.
Loveday turns her attention back to the temperature dial, and fiddles with it until the flow meets her satisfaction. Knox snores while she gently rinses him off. It makes me want to turn the shower dial to freezing again. He doesn’t deserve her care. Jealousy skewers me through the guts when I realise how her expression has softened as she looks at him. I don’t want her eyes and face appearing all doughy and sympathetic. He’s not a teddy bear. He’s a grown man who ought to be able to take care of himself. Although, umpteen of his ex-girlfriends will testify he’s far from that. Knox can’t half attract them, but their desire to cuddle his squishiness is fast eroded by his neediness. At heart, Knox is a lost little boy desperately in need of his mum.
In my experience, women date musicians because they fancy a walk on the wild side, not because they want to take care of you, which only makes me doubly riled over Loveday’s expression. I want her to be all molten and wide eyed because she’s anticipating the dirty fun we could be having, not because baby bear is sucking his thumb.
“What now?” Having rinsed away all the soap bubbles, Loveday sits back on her haunches.
“Dry him off and leave him here.” There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of point in attempting to move him into the bedroom. Bugger would probably just be sick again the moment we got him there.
She eyes me suspiciously, perhaps sensing my irritation, though perhaps not realising the cause of it. “You dry, I’ll get the duvet. Try not to smother him.” Off she hurries, leaving me to the joy of patting him down. If he ends up a bit sore in places because I didn’t do as thorough a job as I might, then he can consider it minor payback for the shit storm he’s about to create, and the dreams he’s about to ruin.
“I must have a screw loose to be doing this for you,” I tell Knox. “The band’s about to go belly up. Joel’s going to walk, and sitting on Dane is the only way I’m going to be able to prevent him killing you and Jessie.”
Knox delivers a contented snore in response.
“You don’t give a shit, do you?”
He snuffles and sneezes over me, before falling back into his wheezy snorting.
Out of this world!
I avail myself of the facecloth.
Jeez, must be nice to be able to tune out so completely.
Loveday returns with a duvet and a pillow. We wedge the latter under Knox’s head, and tug the cover around him, then stand back and sigh like the relieved parents of a hyperactive toddler. I really wish we didn’t have a twenty-three year old baby on our hands, because I’m keen to do some hiding from reality of my own right now.
Naturally, this involves Loveday, an ocean wide bed, several waterproof jackets and a whole lot of tongue action.
“What will you do now?” she asks, while rubbing sleep out of her pretty eyes. She smudges a bit of mascara, but I don’t tell her, because it’s cute. My thoughts return to the idea of us entwined. I’d like to find a way to give her proper panda eyes. “You do realise there’s no way on earth he’s going to be in a fit state to play.”
What I’m going to do—what I’m already doing—is pray for a miracle. That’s the only thing that’s going to get us out of this fix. Paradise Kiss can’t perform without a bassist, and Knox is the only one we have. He might astound us all and get out of the bath when required to do so, but I think it’s more likely that a shark will swim up through plughole.
“Isn’t there anyone you can call on to stand in?”
I keep my eyes averted, because I don’t want her to even suspect who my first choice would be were I to call for help. It’s irrelevant, it’s not happening. I know Knox has ruined things, but I still can’t just throw him to the wolves.
“You must know people. Band’s don’t operate in isolation, and you’ve been on the scene for what…two, three years?”
Oh shit! It’s a good thing Joel isn’t around to hear this, because he’d be utterly disgusted with me for not pouncing, given she’s provided such a good opening. There’s no question that with Loveday playing bass, Paradise Kiss would soon be hurtling towards international stardom. I want that. I want it so badly, that all my frustrations writhe inside of me, and fill up my soul with resentment. The target’s not Knox though, it’s her, because she’s the solution, whereas he’s merely the problem.
I want to hurt her. I want to make her shut up.
“There must be someone, Darke.”
I stick by my friends. I do not screw them over, or leave them behind.Knox and I are brothers.Mantra like, I silently chant that thought, while my fists clench.
The sickness and temptation I have writhing in my guts must be plainly expressed on my face, because Loveday ducks down, seeking to make eye contact. She takes hold of my arm and immediately, my muscles tense.
“Really, nobody at all?” She shakes her head, obviously surprised and saddened by this fact.
